


Kalinda: Perfection or Human?

by doggirl5000



Category: Good Wife (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-27
Updated: 2012-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doggirl5000/pseuds/doggirl5000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark. Mysterious. Inscrutable. Sexy. These were the words people spoke in reverent, hushed tones whenever she was near. These were the words they spoke even when she wasn't. But there was a woman behind the mystery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kalinda: Perfection or Human?

Dark. Mysterious. Inscrutable. Sexy. These were the words people spoke in reverent, hushed tones whenever she was near. These were the words they spoke even when she wasn't. But there was a woman behind the mystery, beneath the shroud of enigmatic sexuality. If only people knew the layers that waited just out of reach of the surface. If only they knew she was so much more.

Physically, she was small; about five foot three with a petite frame, though never was she absent a set of stiletto heels, giving her the appearance of greater height. Her caramel skin was soft, smooth, luxuriously inviting. Skin many yearned to touch, though few ever did, for fear of being burned. Her dark almond shaped eyes, almost black, were rimmed with kohl, inviting and curious. Her nose was a little broad, but one's attention was always riveted to those probing, luminous eyes or her moist, shiny, dark hued lips. Tucked atop her head, was a long mane of shadow, seldom ever released from its stiff confines, a testament of her unwavering self-control. And while she was always well-dressed, usually in a short skirt and blouse or shirt dress and jacket, she favored leather. From the tall, black leather boots that so snugly clung to her legs, painfully shy of the rim of a lacking skirt, to the shroud of leather she wore around her shoulders and back, protectively fastened in the front, a shield against the world; many found this certain fabric only lent to her mystique.

She could disarm with a glance, entice with a curl of her lips, and encourage the secrets from a priest with a single giggle. The raise of a finely sculpted eyebrow expressed more than a speech, the lingering purr in her 'hello' could turn the mind to mush, and the fateful turn of her head, the smallest echoes of a smile gracing those cunning lips, could drag one to their knees. These were the things they noticed, and believe me – they always noticed – when Kalinda walked into the room.

She was sexy as sin, and as conniving as such, but, again, she was more than that. She was smart. Incredibly so. Many have wondered over the years how she came to be that way, usually after they found themselves at the sharp end of her wit and knowledge. They wondered how she found things, could entice things, how she could take things without the recipient ever knowing of the theft. And when they did discover the treachery, they wondered how they couldn't care less, if only she were to smile at them again.

She was an enchantress. With the slightest of inflections, she could make you hers. With the most curious nuance and raise of her brow she could bind you. With subtle mannerisms, gorgeous confidence, and a sharp tongue, this feisty, complicated mystery could uproot you from your world and draw you into hers.

She was fire at its hottest; the heat of her intellect and acute knowing and cunning could be felt from a court room away. Yet, unlike the flame she so clearly emulated - its purpose to consume, and if need be destroy – she was a protector. Few found themselves lucky enough to be graced with her friendship, but those who did, never had to fear with Kalinda behind them. Once you were hers - whether she claimed you as an ally, asset, lover or friend - there was a sanctity placed upon you; one even the devil himself couldn't tarnish or remove.

Many have often questioned her alliance, wondered anxiously how she could sell them out, mused how she could be so apathetic and controlled when their lives seemed to be ripping apart at the seams. If you ever have to question her motives, and genuinely doubt them, she must clearly not be your true friend. True friends do wonder, do ponder, but never, for the harrowing shadow of a second, believe she has abandoned them. Sure she has boots, brains, attitude, and at almost any given time, an automatic - but her relationships, the few she considers 'friends', the scant group of people who make her feel like she belongs, are the only possessions she has.

She doesn't have a past; she appeared one day fully formed, like the goddess Athena from the head of Zeus, battle ready and eager. She doesn't have a background; instead she meshes into whatever landscape surrounds her. She doesn't have a family or a home; she has surrogates, place markers she cons herself into believing she doesn't need or want. Confident at any given time she can pick up and go, leaving her current life behind, tossing it away as yesterday's old take out.

People see she has friends. They see she cares about her best friend and looked out for her, even when Kalinda had betrayed her, relentless in her loyalty to the memory of their friendship. They see her steady friendship with her boss, devout in her creed to always have his back. They even see her convenient albeit complicated friendships with those at the State's Attorney's Office; one Assistant State's Attorney in particular.

People see the adoration she has for her job. While many will chalk her devotion to the long hours and constant controversy to her desire for wealth, any who have a semblance of an idea of her paycheck will instantly throw that idea out the nearest ten-story window. Those closest to her, those who admire her, see her strength and courage. They see her unyielding devotion to do what's right – although at times she employs questionable methods – in an attempt to purge herself of some unknown guilt or offer penance for a past only she knows. They see her inscrutable curiosity, her passion for truth at whatever cost. They recognize her shrewdness for determination, her blatant use of her sexuality as a guileless tactic; they notice the nearly imperceptible sigh and release of tension from her shoulders when she was instrumental in a case that just ruled in their favor.

All these things they see add to their conglomeration of admiration and awe of her, but little do they know…they see only what she allows.

But there was so much they didn't see. So much they didn't bother to look for.

Everyone always stopped searching past her leather jacket and alluring boots. They undressed her with their eyes, gliding discretely, or not so, over the surface. They weren't seeking to probe her thoughts trying to see what made her tick, what drove her to do the things she does, what propelled her into this life. Everyone stopped at her armor. The walls she barricaded herself behind. No one bothered to ponder if she wanted someone to look past her façade. Someone to realize that that is all it was – a mask to keep the unworthy out. No one ever wondered if she needed someone to barge into her life and save her from herself.

The one thing no one saw was not that she wasn't Superwoman, or that she wasn't indestructible, or that she was devoid of what they considered propriety in her dealings with people and their feelings. What the many who leered at her and lingered and judged, failed to see, whether by ignorance or naivety, was the most important aspect of who she was. She was human.

Those who meet her instantly place her on a pedestal, convinced she is otherworldly and mystical, captivated by the enigma that surrounds her and themselves when they are near her. Those brave enough to attempt to delve into the many layers soon find themselves lost, believing she is a puzzle that cannot be solved, a riddle that cannot be broken.

She would take a taxi from you in the pouring rain, but she would not allow you to rot in jail. She would seduce you beyond the thinnest measure of your wit and drag you along for a bumpy, merciless ride, but she would never lie to you. She would break into your house, feigning innocence while she helped you search for the trespassers, but would only do so for a good reason, that in the end would help someone.

Kalinda Sharma, Private In-house Investigator for the Law Firm of Lockhart and Gardner, is, by definition of perfection, "complete beyond all practical or theoretical improvement." She is complex, confusing, and elaborate. She is devious, challenging, and witty. She is wise, insightful, protective, and protected. She is the most absolute culmination of humanity one will ever find, for the simple fact that she is imperfect.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this with the perceived notion that I would be describing a woman who knew no guilt for her actions, played people to get her way, and never needed to apologize because, despite the good heart many know she possesses somewhere deep within her chest, almost everything she did was without regret and absent guile. I intended to show a strong, beautiful, sensible woman who, to those just scanning the surface, saw a seemingly impetuous woman who went with the flow, all the while ignorant of her tactics and the repercussions they housed. Instead I discovered just a woman. She isn't otherworldly, she isn't a foreign goddess, and she isn't blatantly extraordinary. She is ordinary. She is human. That which we think is mystifying only appears so at the surface. If one chose to delve deeply into any human being, no matter their race, age, gender, sexuality or class, they would find the same flaws as I discovered here in this 'mysterious' woman. And maybe we can all learn to realize that imperfection is perfect.


End file.
